Too Stubborn to Die
by Hel Bee
Summary: COMPLETE. Part 5 posted. ArcherTuckerReed slash. Trip isn't dead, but his new role on Romulus might make him wish he was.
1. Too Stubborn to Die

A quick note:

Originally each section was posted indiviually but now I've put them all in one story. Part 2 has been edited to fit in with guidelines... the full NC17 version of this (and part 5 when it is finished) can be found at Warp 5 Complex... the best Enterprise fanfic site out there! Any trouble finding it just send me a nessage and I'll point you in the right direction :)

Title: Too Stubborn To Die

Author: Hel Bee

Series: ENT  
Codes: A/R/Tu  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Set Six months after 'These are the Voyages…'

Beta: Rakina and Charlene  
Summary: Phlox has a secret, and he's ready to tell.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!

A/N: Having only recently seen the entire of Enterprise I am in denial over the end. This is my answer to what really happened. Influenced by the idea in the novel 'The Good That Men Do' which I have not read but was intrigued by the premise… in my depraved mind when I say Trip goes undercover, I meant it in the lewdest sense.

A/N2: This is my first Star Trek fic, although not my first slash or fanfiction by a long shot. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks for your patience and for being a great fandom to play in.

The message had been piggy-backed onto a routine medical communiqué. If Phlox hadn't been desperately waiting for it the carrier wave would have gone unnoticed. Six months, six months of constant worry and deception, but now he knew his friend had safely infiltrated the Senate he could share his secret and remedy the sickness caused by grief for two other officers – two men that he would also count as friends.

He moved over to the safe in his office housed in the research centre he had worked at since the decommissioning of NX01. His retina scan caused the locking device to beep and the door to the small safe to open. Amongst papers and a few personal items he found the black, velvet pouch he was looking for. Snatching it from its resting place, he returned to his desk and activated the view screen. A shrill beep told him his call had been answered.

"Good evening, Commander Reed. I hope I am not disturbing your evening."

"Not at all, Doctor Phlox. How can I be of assistance?" asked Malcolm Reed, newly promoted commander and weapons developer for Starfleet in San Francisco.

"I know it is late, but I really need to speak with you and the admiral – face to face." Phlox saw Reed's brow crinkle. "I really must insist."

"Then I will tell Jon we are expecting company. Reed out."

Phlox bustled out of his office, collecting a few papers as he went and hurried downstairs and hailed a flitter-taxi. Within thirty minutes he was standing outside the apartment of Admiral Archer and his husband, Commander Reed.

The door to the apartment opened with a gentle hiss a few moments after he had pressed the buzzer. Jonathon Archer smiled at him and invited him in, guiding Phlox to the lounge. "Just what is so important, doctor?" Archer asked gesturing Phlox to sit. Phlox still found it odd to see Archer in civilian dress, and when Reed joined them it seemed doubly strange.

"I do apologise for the late hour but, like I said, this really isn't something that can wait." Phlox waved away the coffee that Malcolm offered and removed the velvet pouch from his inside coat pocket. He untied its drawstring and tipped its contents into the palm of his hand. "I believe you recognise this."

It was a plain, titanium ring. Nothing overtly ornate, designed to be durable and understated. Phlox saw the tremor in Archer's hand as he reached over and picked it up, holding it out to Reed as if it was a precious artefact. "This is Trip's." Archer's and Pholx's eyes locked. "What the hell are you doing with it?"

"I can explain everything – including the significance of why I'm giving it to you now," Phlox said in a conciliatory fashion. "But anything I tell you tonight is in the strictest confidence." A nod from each man was all the assurance Phlox needed. "I was extremely honoured when the three of you chose to complete your wedding vows on Denobula, even though your relationship is hardly conventional as far as Starfleet is concerned, I was glad you decided to publicly acknowledge your close association."

"Doctor," interrupted Reed, "just what does this have to do with Trip's wedding ring?"

"I am coming to that," said Phlox patiently. "Trip was put in an untenable position. He chose the only outcome he thought was possible. Section 31 approached Trip when they needed an operative to infiltrate the Romulan Senate. He knew the stakes, and he also didn't like the other options."

"What?" snapped Reed, getting to his feet.

Phlox instinctively leant away and raised his hands in placation. "Please, calm down, Commander. I have so much to tell you. But most importantly, Trip is alive." Although for how long is another matter, he thought darkly.

Malcolm staggered backwards and landed back in the armchair he had just leapt out of. "Alive," he whispered.

"I was ordered to help fake Trip's death, but he was adamant that once he had successfully taken on the mantle of his cover that I should tell you he wasn't dead. The ring was his idea, to make sure you believed me."

Until now Archer had been silent, sitting forward in an armchair, his hands clasped tightly together, knuckles almost white from the pressure. "Where is he?"

"Romulus."

"And what has the fool-headed idiot got himself into now?"

Phlox smiled; it was the reaction he had expected from his ex-captain. No shouts of denial, but straight to the point of how to get his errant husband out of whatever trouble he was in. Although Phlox doubted Archer would want to hear exactly what Trip's new role on Romulus involved, now was not the time to keep any more secrets. "He didn't consider he was given a real choice, Admiral. The head of Section 31 made it quite clear to Trip that it was either him or someone else, someone they knew he would try to protect."

Malcolm groaned. "They were intending to approach me, weren't they?"

Phlox nodded. "Trip decided that you and the admiral would survive, that your relationship would be sound. I tried to persuade him to talk to you both, but you know how stubborn he can be…"

"Very, is the answer to that," Archer said fondly.

Reed scowled and muttered something under his breath that Phlox didn't quite catch. But it sounded like: 'when I get my hands on him I am going to kick his arse from here to Kuala Lumpur.'

"You must understand that his mission is vital to Starfleet and your planet's security. There can be no question of you racing out to Romulus to rescue him," warned Phlox. "Trip knows what is expected of him; he knows his duty."

"You can't expect us to do nothing," demanded Reed. "You can't just sit there and tell us that the man we married, who we thought has been dead for six months, is alive and not think we'd go after him."

"I did warn Trip that this would be your immediate reaction when he first asked me to deliver the ring. Trip told me to tell you not to do anything stupid."

"Why should he have the sole right to act stupid?" snarled Reed, who was once again on his feet and pacing

"You know what Trip is doing," stated Archer plainly, a little too calm for Phlox's liking.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Tell me." It wasn't a request.

"He has been surgically altered to resemble a Romulan, including some internal modifications necessary to fool their medical scanners.

"Trip with pointy ears?" said Archer incredulously.

"Indeed, Admiral. But that is not the limit of the surgery. He has been implanted with sub-dermal emitters that will alter the secretions of his sebaceous glands. His secretions will act as a sedative on normal Romulan physiology."

Malcolm scowled. "Why would Trip be in the position to sweat all over a Romulan, especially – if I understand you correctly – a Senate member?"

Phlox saw Archer's eyes widen, he knew the admiral was party to more information than the commander. New intelligence from the potential foe came in daily and Phlox could tell that Archer had worked out exactly what his husband would be doing. "Please tell me he's not…"

Phlox hung his head. "I am sorry, Admiral. But there really wasn't any other way, and Trip was insistent that his husband would not be put in that position."

Malcolm glared at the two men. "What? Come on – tell me!"

Jon sighed loudly. "The Romulan Senate is rumoured to have, for the lack of a better word for it, a harem – a collection of concubines for their pleasure. The only way Trip could deploy his sweat would to be to –"

"He's a Romulan whore!" bellowed Malcolm. "Jesus Christ, Jon, We've got to get him home!"

Archer bowed his head. "Trip must know what he is doing. Phlox is right: we can't interfere. I suspect he has already contravened a whole load of orders by even letting us know he is alive."

"I can't emphasise enough how important it is that the Trip completes his mission. He has an emergency transponder and Section 31 operatives are ready to pull him out at any time," Phlox assured.

"So are you Section 31 too?" asked Malcolm, a sour look gracing his face.

Phlox stood up, it was time for him to leave. "No. Trip needed someone he could trust."

"And he couldn't trust us?" snorted Malcolm disbelievingly.

"Commander Reed," Phlox said sharply, "I think you know the answer to that yourself. Trip wanted to protect you both; he did it the only way he could."

"So what are we meant to do now?" Malcolm said turning to Jon.

Archer stood and pulled his husband into his arms. "We wait."

"But…"

"We know he is alive. Yesterday we would have given anything to have heard that. Now we have to let Trip do what he has to. He's proved to us again that he is too stubborn to die."

FIN (for now)


	2. Serving the Senate

Title: Serving The Senate  
Author: Hel Bee  
Series: ENT  
Codes: A/R/Tu  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Set several months after 'These are the Voyages…'  
Beta: Rakina and Charlene  
Summary: Serving the Romulan Senate, Trip has time to reflect on what he misses most about Earth.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!  
AN: Second in the 'Too Stubborn To Die' series. This is edited version acceptable for The NC17 will be posted to my live journal acount (link under my website on my profile page.

Molec stretched languorously and propped himself up on his elbow. He smiled down as Senator Vishma, staring into the drowsy face of one Romulus's most important men. It had taken months to catch the senator's eye, to make sure the man requested him in his Excellency's chambers for a post-sitting fuck. Pushing aside the revulsion he felt about his actions, Molec told himself that it was this man's position of power that was important; although not Praetor, Vishma was clearly aiming for the job. Senator Vishma's position and ambitions meant power and, therefore, access to more information, and the more information he could gather the sooner Molec could return to his old life as a Starfleet commander. None of his lectures at the academy could have prepared him for this mission, though some of his extracurricular activities with the captain of the football team had come in handy.

"Can I get you anything, Senator?" he asked politely. "Some kali-fal, perhaps."

The senator's eyes flickered shut and he muttered non-sensibly. He was asleep. Molec breathed a sigh of relief; his sub-dermal implants were still functioning. Although normal for a male Romulan to sleep after orgasm, Molec's altered secretions made sure his victim would sleep deeper and longer than usual, but without any side affects that would make the Romulan suspicious.

Molec slipped off the bed and moved silently over to the senator's view screen. There was little point in dressing, he would need to return to bed afterwards; no concubine of the Romulan Senate would allow someone as important as Vishma to awake alone. Using one of the many access codes his Section 31 colleagues had been able  
to procure, Molec accessed the mainframe. The Romulans were a secretive race, even keeping secrets from each other in case of uprising or an attempted coup. He'd learnt quickly that only the more senior senators had access to the highly confidential information, and even then the knowledge was not shared ubiquitously between them.

Knowing time was not on his side, Molec searched for the weapons, power grid and fleet deployment files. Previously his engineering skills had allowed him to distinguish between something really worthwhile and schematics that were flights of fancy or even red herrings to throw potential spies off the scent, but now he growled  
in frustration as nothing new was displayed. Although there were a few dates of future meetings, and their intriguing agendas, there was nothing worth the risk of feeding to his contact. Still, tonight had not been completely wasted, but he would have to make sure he graced Vishma's bed again.

He padded back over the bed and slid back between the sheets. The senator mumbled in his sleep and slowly regained consciousness. "Ah, Molec, you're still here. Excellent. You may help me dress, but first a shower. Come with me."

Back in his small quarters, Molec filled the handbasin with water. The shower had done nothing to make him feel clean, and he needed to remove the invisible residue of the senator's touch from his face. The shower had thankfully washed away his secretions; otherwise he'd have probably had awkward questions to answer about his  
soporific effect on senators. He splashed the water onto his overheated skin, his cheeks stinging at the coldness of the liquid. His eyes flicked up and he made the mistake of catching his reflection in the mirror, something he tried to avoid these days. His once Floridian tanned skin now had a greenish tinge, his blond spiky hair had turned black and flat; but it was his eyes that haunted him the most. No longer blue, his eyes were dark, almost black in colour. Jon had loved his eyes; Malcolm too had talked at length about how expressive the blue could be, but now, even to Molec, they looked lifeless. So much of his appearance had changed, but there was more inside. He could still feel the vocal cord implant when he swallowed, it was a necessary evil to prevent his accent coming to the forefront as it did so often when he was excited or annoyed. And never, no matter how long he lived, would he get used to the green blood. True, the scientists have been ingenious, combining cytochromes with his haemoglobin, but he would always be shocked to see the green fluid ooze from his damaged skin. There was one small mercy – Doctor Phlox had assured him everything was reversible.

Molec stripped out of the linen tunic and trousers that he was expected to wear while on duty. He crumpled the tunic into a ball, wiping his face on the material before throwing it into the corner of the room. Laundry could wait, he needed to sleep. The Senate intended to sit again in a few hours and his presence would be required in the  
antechamber before and after to provide drinks and any other service the senators would require. He crawled underneath his soft blanket which had been a gift from one of the senators after a particularly energetic session, closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking. He should have known it was pointless. Images of his past played out on the back of his eyelids; memories of touches heated his skin. The words and sincere promises whispered in his ears and caused his chest to tighten and a sob to escape his lips even though he fought to contain it. His eyes began to well with tears and he did nothing as they tracked down his cheeks. He gave in; there was no point in fighting his memories.  
Three years earlier…

He often lost track of the time when aboard Enterprise, the lack of weather on a starship making it difficult to remember even what season it was at times. Repairs, as always, had kept him busy in engineering, and it had become an easy excuse to avoid certain members of the crew – in particular the captain and the chief armoury officer. Trip had told himself it was because he didn't want to intrude, let them have the time together to explore their fledgling relationship. They certainly wouldn't want him about when they could be using their free time to be alone as a couple. However, when he was feeling honest with himself – not that he allowed it to happen very often – he would admit there might be the slightest, almost insignificant, hint of jealousy. Jon had been his friend for years, and Trip figured he would have had to be dead from the neck down not to realise how attractive Jon was. Then there was Malcolm – he certainly wouldn't have kicked the moody Brit out of his bed for farting.

So it had come as something of a surprise to Trip when Jon had sent him a message about Malcolm's birthday. Was it really September already? Surely Christmas hadn't been that long ago? The captain had asked him to dinner in his quarters to celebrate Malcolm's birthday. The tone of the missive clearly inferred that a refusal, polite or otherwise, would not be acceptable.

Trip reluctantly accepted and had even changed out of his uniform for the occasion, a rarity in the last few months with the warp coil being so temperamental. As he stood outside the captain's door he wiped his sweaty palms down his jeans, wondering just why he was so apprehensive. Part of his brain happily supplied him with the answer: the captain's quarters aren't big enough for more than three people to be comfortable – you're going to be own your own with them and you're scared you're going to do something stupid.

Before he could turn tail and run, the door opened and Jon grinned at him. "Y'know, Trip, if I didn't know you better I'd think you'd been avoiding us."

Us, thought Trip, Jon must really be serious if he was already thinking for Malcolm. "That's crazy. You know what it's been like recently – I've hardly had any spare time."

Jon made a noncommittal noise and stepped to the side to admit him. "Malcolm's on his way. Drink?"

There was a bottle of bourbon and three glasses on the night stand next to the bed. Trip swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. "Yeah, that'd be great, Capt'n."

Accepting a glass, Trip deliberately sat on the small couch, away from the bed. Best to leave the bed for the lovers, he thought sourly. However, Jon surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch, bringing the bottle with him.

"Trip," began Jon with determination, patting his guest's thigh. "You've been taking on a good deal of unnecessary double shifts… so I'm wondering, why you're avoiding us?"

Trip was acutely aware of where Jon's hand had rested on his thigh and he knocked back his shot of bourbon in one go, only for Jon to immediately refill his glass. "I don't know what you mean…"

"Oh come on, Trip. Why so coy?" Jon's hand moved further up his thigh.

Trip yelped and jumped to his feet, knocking the contents of his glass flying. "Jon! What are you doing? Malcolm will be here at any minute."

Jon was standing too, he moved closer and before Trip could react he was encircled in his best friend's arms with Jon's enthusiastic tongue exploring his mouth.

Breathless, Trip pulled away. "Jon… I… What about Malcolm?"

Jon pulled Trip close and nuzzled his neck. "We've both noticed how you've been looking at us… and we're both intrigued at the possibilities."

Trip stepped back, pushing Jon away gently. "My mamma always told me that two's company, three's a crowd."

"Malcolm wants this as much as I do," insisted Jon. "Consider it his birthday present."

The door to the captain's quarters slid open and Lieutenant Reed stepped into the room. He looked between Jon and Trip and smiled. "Have you persuaded him yet?"

"I'm working on it," answered Jon with a chuckle.

Trip's eyes widened as Malcolm stalked towards him. Before he knew what had hit him, Trip had been knocked backwards, landing heavily on the bed and straddled by an extremely ardent armoury officer. "Give it up, Trip. I can feel you're not exactly averse to the idea."

Trip groaned as Malcolm ground his hips against his increasingly interested erection. He tried to answer, but once open his mouth was filled by tongue – only then did he realise that Jon had joined them on the bed. Two pairs of hands divested him of his clothes and his mind whirled as Malcolm learned down and whispered: "I want to fuck you as Jon fucks your mouth."

A very small bit of Trip's brain tried to tell him that this probably wasn't the best idea, but a louder, lust-filled voice overruled it. None of his fantasies could have prepared him for this, but then again neither could any of his real life experiences. "I've never…" he began but trailed off.

He saw Malcolm and Jon exchange a look. Jon's fingers stroked his cheek. "I thought… at the academy… the football player…?"

"W-w-we didn't go that far," he stammered out in response. Trip stared wide eyed between the two men who hovered above him as he lay naked on the bed. "But I'd like to now."

Malcolm smiled and Trip realised that if the armoury officer had any hot coals that required walking over then he'd readily apply for the job. "I promise," said Malcolm earnestly, "I will make sure you enjoy this as much as I intend to."

---

Trip didn't protest as Jon pulled him flush against his body, lying them down on the bed. He relished the warmth and firmness of his lover's body, scared to say anything in case the moment was lost. The bed dipped and Malcolm slid up behind him, snaking his arm around his middle and resting his chin on Trip's shoulder. "Hey, Jon," said Malcolm softly.

"Hmmm?"

"I really liked my birthday present," said Malcolm, between kisses to Trip's neck. "I think we'll keep him."

Jon smirked, craning his neck to kiss Trip's temple. "Good, because I don't think I have the receipt

Molec sighed loudly. There was no way he could sleep with the emptiness he felt so deeply in his chest. He got out of bed and selected a clean set of linens. Dressing quickly, he decided it would be advantageous to arrive at the antechamber early. Maybe it was time to try and attract the attention of the Praetor.

FIN (for now)

Continued in the third part of the series: Praetor (I'm working on it – honest!)


	3. Praetor

Title: Praetor  
Author: Hel Bee  
Series: ENT  
Codes: A/R/Tu  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Set several months after 'These are the Voyages…'  
Beta: Rakina and Charlene  
Summary: Trip catches the eye of Romulus's most powerful men.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!  
AN: Third in the 'Too Stubborn To Die' series.

Molec was glad that the week was over. His enforced best rest may have been good for his body, but its effect on his sanity could only be described as negative. It was of course his own fault entirely; his desire to catch the Praetor's eye had backfired. He had indeed gained Praetor Tayha's attention; unfortunately it had meant he had been assigned to entertain a rather vicious Corvallen envoy. The resulting injuries had meant a week off duty; the doctor had taken one look at him before assigning bed rest. His mood had swung from one extreme to the other: from righteous indignation to maudlin, to resignation. He'd brooded and sulked, and then in a pique of anger born of frustration he'd smashed anything in reach that could be broken.

His original plan had not involved spending a week inactive; it chafed at his sensibilities. Malcolm would have understood, sympathised that he wanted to continue with his duties, working closer to his goal of getting home.

Malcolm. He really shouldn't be thinking about him. He was Molec, not Trip. Molec was not married to Malcolm. Molec was a plaything of the Romulan Senate and he would be wise to remember it. But it was too late to hold back his memories…  
- - -  
There had been no time for regrets or feeling uncomfortable after their first time together. The tactical alert had sent them running – Malcolm and Jon to the bridge and Trip to engineering with only Jon in uniform. The next twelve hours had seen Enterprise boarded, reclaimed and scorched, but normality had been returned. Trip found himself staring out of the mess hall's window, coffee in hand, exhausted. Sleep was still a long way off since the engine had taken damage and there was no chance in hell that he could sleep with the uneven vibrations it was making.

"Trip?"

The voice was unmistakable. Trip knew it was Malcolm before he'd turned around. "Hey, you still up?"

"Evidently," came the wry reply. "Are you all right?"

Trip yawned, using his free hand to cover his mouth. "Yeah, just getting in a quick break before I go back to engineering."

Malcolm joined him at the window. "About last night…"

Suddenly the coffee tasted acrid, and he knew he had to say something to stop from actually hearing the words of rejection. Trip turned to face the lieutenant. "It's all right, Malcolm. I understand. I don't want to cause trouble between you and Jon…"

"No!"

Trip stared at Malcolm who was shaking his head, reaching out towards him. "What?"

"I – we – look, Trip. Both Jon and I want you… and I speak for both of us when I say one night is simply not enough."

Trip knew he was gaping. He could feel his mouth was hanging open. Malcolm smiled and reached over to him, and applying gentle pressure to his chin he closed his mouth and chuckled. "You'll catch flies."

"I don't understand what's going on," Trip said truthfully, barely able to believe what Malcolm was offering.

Malcolm slid his hand to cup Trip's cheek. "It's very simple: we need you."

"But…"

"Listen, you make me and Jon work. What all of us have together feels right." Malcolm took a seat at the nearest table and Trip followed. He sat opposite the Brit and waited for him to continue. "You may have noticed that neither Jon nor I like to give up control… we both like to lead," he said pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

Trip's eyes widened in comprehension. "You mean you've never…"

"That's right. Mouths and hands, nothing more. Well, until last night…"

Trip scowled. "So that's why you want me – because I'll let you fuck me? That I'll be your toy!"

Malcolm quickly grabbed his hands across the table. "No! Don't ever think that! God, Trip… you're the reason me and Jon even got this far."

Trip snatched his hands away. "Don't play with me," he sneered.

"Please listen, I know I'm making a complete pig's ear of this, but you've got to realise that you belong with us. The captain and Ihad been in a bar during shore leave, neither of us really wanting each other's company but neither wanting to be on their own. Several glasses of local spirit later and we confessed our…" he hesitated as if trying to find the words, "…our affection for you. We spent the evening extolling your virtues and attributes. One drunken conversation led to another and the next thing we knew we were waking up in the same bed."

Trip fiddled with his coffee mug, a whirl of confusion, anger and hope racing around his mind. "That doesn't mean you need me."

"I love Jon, he loves me. But we both love you." He stated it simply, nothing hidden in the tone or the words he used.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but that makes no sense to me," said Trip, more calmly than he felt.

Malcolm looked confused. "I don't understand."

"I know Jon; I mean really know him – have done for years. He doesn't fall in love easily, and certainly not after a quick fuck. He also knows the difference between love and infatuation, which quite frankly, is the best you two could feel for me."

Trip wondered briefly if he and pushed Malcolm too far as he saw the muscle in the security officer's left cheek twitch. "I assure you, that my relationship with Jon is not a 'quick fuck'."

"Really?" drawled Trip. "You sit there telling me you ended up together thanks to a mutual appreciation of me, and expect me to believe you're in the middle some great love affair."

"We discovered we had other things in common," Malcolm said dryly. "Neither of us expected our feelings to escalate quite so quickly – I am just as surprised as you!"

Trip sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stared pointedly at the lieutenant. He could see no reason for his friend to lie to him, and he seemed pretty adamant about his feelings. So maybe Malcolm and Jon were in love, but even if he accepted that, it didn't mean they actually needed him. "It still makes so sense that you'd be in love with me… that you need me."

Malcolm sighed heavily and Trip thought he was about to get up and walk away, but instead he leant forward. "I know you don't believe me, but we do. Oh god, Trip, last night was prefect, it made us realise that it wasn't – as you said – infatuation."

"I…"

"At least think about it, please," said Malcolm earnestly.

Trip looked into Malcolm's face. This was the closest he'd ever heard the lieutenant get to begging. "I'll need some time to think."

Malcolm smiled. "Take as long as you need, but I can't promise Jon will be so patient – you know what he's like."

---  
Molec blinked away the memory. Sometimes it was good to remember, not often, he conceded, but sometimes. He was sure now, more than ever, that he had done the right thing by accepting this mission and therefore protecting his husband. There was no way Malcolm could give up control, no way he would have submitted so easily to the Senate members. Yes, he had been right.  
Molec exchanged a nervous glance with one of the other concubines. She arched an eyebrow and looked away. The noise from the main chamber was escalating quickly, wild voices shouting insults, strange crashes which sounded like pottery and furniture being broken. Then almost as soon as the noise levels had risen, silence descended. He supposed he should no longer be surprised at the Romulans' outburst. When he had first arrived here he had foolishly expected the Romulans to act in some way like their distant cousins, the Vulcans. But these people were far more passionate, their emotion as likely to lead them as much as any human's.

The doors to the chamber crashed open and the Senate members streamed out. One of them, a young female member named Calava, called for a drink and the concubines were sent scurrying for kali-fal and glasses. Molec saw Senator Vishma leave the chamber and without engaging any of the others, head straight toward him. "Good, you are on duty," said Vishma, grabbing Molec by his bicep. "My room – now!"

"I think not, Vishma."

Molec snapped his head around to see the formidablefigure of the Praetor. "I intend to use this one tonight. You will have to make do with one of the others."

Whatever argument the two senators had engaged in while in the chamber was clearly not resolved, and Molec realised that the Praetor had only chosen him to annoy his subservient. The two Romulans stared at each other for a long moment, Vishma's hands still holding Molec's bicep. The Praetor's top lip curled into a cruel sneer. "Step down, Vishma."

Vishma released his grip and shoved Molec away, it was all he could you to regain his balance and he stumbled slightly against the Praetor. "Apologies, your Excellency," he mumbled quickly.

The Praetor held out a hand to steady him. "Come, I have many frustrations to banish."

Molec bowed his head in respect and followed the Praetor out of the antechamber and along the corridors to Tayha's quarters in the Senate building. He was careful to stay a few paces behind the senator, again a sign of respect, but he could not help but be intrigued by Romulus's first minister – different from what he had expected when he had first agreed to the mission. Tayha's war record was unimpressive, and he did not belong to one of the leading families of Romulus. Like Malcolm Reed, Praetor Tahya was not typical of the person who usually did his job. Molec bit down on his lip so the pain would chase away the thoughts of his husband – now was neither the time nor the place.

Tayha's quarters were unsurprisingly well appointed and extremely beautiful. No detail had been left to chance when it came to the Praetor's comfort. Molec looked around in awe. "Stop dawdling, and come through to bedroom," snapped Tahya. "I require a massage before I make use of you in other ways."

Molec hurried to follow Tayha into his bedchamber. Once in there Molec was staggered by the opulence of the room. He'd visited most of the senators' quarters over the last few months but Tayha's were by far the most impressive. The large bed was dressed in rich imported silks, while the other furniture was ornately craved by the best artisans and graced with delicate pottery and other ornaments. Mindful that the Praetor had already begun to undress, Molec crossed over to the dresser, knowing that the top drawer would contain a set of oils like those found in every senator's quarters.

He removed a red glass bottle as the Praetor lay naked on top of the bedspread. Remembering his so-called professionalism, Molec poured some of the heavy-scented massage oil into his hands and took his position straddling the Praetor's legs. Using long, firm strokes, he began to work the muscles in Tayha's back. The Romulan groaned in appreciation as Molec loosened a particularly tense knot in his shoulders.

"Do you realise I remember your father?"

Molec continued with the massage, taking care that he did not alert the Praetor to his anxiety. His identity had been taken from a real man, dead five years and a second generation exile. No one in Section 31 had expected Molec's background to be questioned. "Sire?" he answered neutrally.

"Believe it or not, Molec, not all Romulans would remember him harshly. He was a good man until he betrayed his people."

"My father's actions shamed my family and my ancestors," Molec said carefully.

The Praetor laughed. "That they did. And now you are here to repay his debts."

"A sacrifice is needed."

"How very honourable of you, Molec," drawled Tayha. "Your sacrifice will allow your children back into Romulan society."

Molec continued rubbing the green-tinged skin beneath his hands. "My children will be of low class, but that is better than no class at all."

Tayha shifted underneath him and Molec was unbalanced as the Praetor sat up. "Enough small talk."

Molec knew the drill; Tayha's cock was already hard and erect. He moved into a kneeling position, on all fours, presenting himself for use. His mind closed as fingers probed his cleft and he thought of nothing as the Praetor fucked him. He moved and rocked against the man inside him, exerting enough effort so he would sweat and transfer his secretions to the Praetor, but there was no emotional attachment, his mind now carefully closed from even his memories. As per usual the encounter was brief, the Romulan quick to release his frustrations in Molec's willing body. Tayha slumped across Molec's back and withdrew, collapsing back onto the bed, breathing heavily. "You exceed your reputation. I will call on your services again."

Molec said nothing. He waited patiently for Tayha, already drowsy, to succumb to sleep. Alerted by the main's soft snores, Molec crossed the room and sat in front of the view screen and, as so many times before, accessed the Romulan mainframe. Page after page appeared which Molec then downloaded onto the subdermal data rod in his arm. So much information, new and old, that had been hidden from him before. A veritable goldmine of data.

"What are you doing?"

Molec jumped to his feet. The Praetor was still naked, striding towards him.He was angry and ready to attack. Molec darted away from the console, but the Romulan was too quick, and he struggled as the Praetor grabbed his arm fiercely. "Like father, like son. Treachery is in the blood!" sneered Tayha, throwing Molec to the floor.

Molec knew he had to act fast. If Tayha contacted security he was a dead man. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, grabbing a vase from the dressing table. The Praetor had turned his back on Molec and was heading for the communication panel on the wall. Molec closed the distance between them and with as much force as he could muster, smashed the vase over the head of the Praetor.

The Praetor slumped to the floor. Time seemed to stand still as Molec approached him. Hesitantly, he knelt beside the Praetor – he didn't appear to be breathing. With a shaking hand, Mole reached out and checked the stricken man's pulse. There was nothing.

Leaping to his feet, he returned to the view screen and he tapped in his emergency codes. The channel was audio only, but it would be sufficient. "You've gotta get me off the planet. I've fucking killed the Praetor!"

FIN (for now – continued in part four: Debriefing)


	4. Debriefing

Title: Debriefing  
Author: Hel Bee  
Series: ENT  
Codes: A/R/Tu  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Set several months after 'These are the Voyages…'  
Beta: Rakina and Charlene  
Summary: Escaping Romulus was one thing, but will Trip have a home to return to.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!  
AN: Fourth in my 'Too Stubborn To Die' series

The seconds ticked by like hours until Molec, relived beyond measure, heard the words: "Be at the prearranged meeting point at 0600 hours."

He quickly closed the audio channel and gathered his clothes from the floor. Molec knew he had to get out of the Senate building quickly; he would only have a limited time to get out before someone came to find the Praetor for official business. Throwing on the linen tunic and trousers, Molec decided not to try and hide the body; it would waste precious time and exert energy he could ill afford to use. He left the Praetor's rooms, slipping into the corridor. Drawing on all his Starfleet training he forced himself to walk at a normal pace back to his quarters, desperate not to give out any signal that something was awry.

A junior senator walked by and Molec averted his eyes as he was expected to, and the presence of two guards making their usual rounds caused his heart rate to increase, but outwardly he remained calm. Once back in his room he changed clothes again, this time into normal Romulan civilian clothing, the one set he kept at the back of his closet. There was nothing here he wanted to take with him, certainly no keepsake that he would want to cherish in the years to come.

It would be wise for him to have an excuse for leaving the Senate compound if questioned. There were very few legitimate reasons why a concubine would venture out into the city. His best hope was to pretend he was on an errand for a senator, and hope that he was not challenged or the person contacted to verify his answer.

He left his room, this time walking quickly, haste was important if he really was on an errand for a senator. Good luck was certainly on his side as the guards on the main entrance made no move to stop him and he fought his desire to break into a run as he entered the city's streets. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and turned into a side alley. Although his chosen route out of the city was not direct it was safe, avoiding as many people as possible. Molec was conscious that it would only be a matter of time before the Praetor was discovered and the manhunt begun.

The city limits gave way to spartan scrub-landwhich in turn ran to dense woods. Molec covered the few kilometres quickly on foot; there were hardly any other travellers around to witness him, and those that were out and about paid him no attention. The dark undergrowth was welcome as he headed into the cover of the trees, moving deeper into the wood. Branches snagged his cloak and the ground was by no means easy under foot, but he kept going. His destination soon came into view, an old tree whose insides had been hollowed out. The gnarled tree made a perfect refuge for the night and it was only a short hike to the final rendezvous point. Molec curled up in the protection of the trunk and pulled his cloak around him. All he had to do now was sit and wait, something that he had never excelled at. At least now he was on his way home: Home to Malcolm and Jon – if they'd have him. He pushed any potential morose thoughts to one side and closed his eyes.

- - -

Malcolm's confession still haunted him, the disbelief still too palpable to overlook. Maybe, Trip thought to himself, he really didn't know Jon as well as he believed. He rounded the corner of what he thought was a deserted corridor on D deck, but hearing soft whispers he drew to a halt. He was about to clear his throat to announce his presence when he recognised the voices.

"Jon, we have to tell him," said Malcolm Reed. "It's the only way he'll understand what happened."

"But he'll think we've been deliberately hiding this from him. Trip would be hurt that I hadn't told him about us from the beginning."

"More hurt than him thinking he's a plaything?" hissed Malcolm. "Christ, Jon, you should have seen him. He thinks we were just messing about with each other and he's part of our game."

Jon sighed. "I hear what you're saying, Malcolm, but Trip won't react well to this revelation. He'll take the fact we've hidden us from him for so long as a deliberate attempt to lie to him, he won't believe we want him."

"Well, we have hidden from him… he thinks we've only been together since that last visit to Risa, not the one before."

Trip gasped – a habit that Malcolm seemed to be instilling in him. Jon and Malcolm had been together for over six months, and they'd managed to keep it quiet until a few weeks ago. Malcolm's claims of Jon's devotion towards him certainly made more sense now; six months was long enough even for the romantically inert Captain Archer to fall for someone. However, if they could hide this from him what else could they deceive him over? What did these two men really mean when they said they wanted him?  
- - -

The pleasant evening air was replaced by cool night. Molec huddled further back into his hiding place. The dense foliage was good for cover and some degree of heat retention, but now the drop in temperature was really beginning to bite. The cloak's thick material offered some protection but it did not keep out all the chill.

At least he was out of the city, closer still to getting home. With little else to occupy him, his mind drifted back to his previous thoughts, but this time to just how persuasive Jon could be.

- - -

He'd been avoiding them, swapping shifts or working overtime. The mess hall was a no go, and apart from a direct order there was no way in hell hewas going anywhere near the bridge. Recently, minor repairs in Jefferies tubes had become his priority and he was sending Hess to deputize for him at interdepartmental meetings. Trip was hiding in a Jefferies tube, fixing a faulty conduit, when Jon finally cornered him.

"Here you are, Commander. I thought you'd left the ship," Jon called out.

Trip looked up from his repairs and almost dropped the spanner he was holding. "Cap'n," he greeted Jon. "How can I help you?"

"I think we should talk, Trip. Somewhere private."

Trip waved at the repair he was working on. "I'm kinda busy here."

"Even I can see that's minor; get someone to do it and come with me. No arguments – your shift ended two hours ago."

The argument lost, Trip stood and followed Jon out of the Jefferies tube. He called out to an ensign to finish the abandoned repair and left Engineering. They weren't heading for the captain's ready room, he could tell that by the direction they had taken, and Trip realised quickly that they were on their way to Jon's quarters. Jon filled the relatively short journey with small talk: ship's business and water polo, but his tone changed completely once the door to his quarters shut behind them.

"If you don't want to be with us then all you have to say is no," he said coldly, arms crossed over his chest. "We're all adults here."

"Adults," spat Trip. "Adults don't keep the truth from their friends. Adults don't play games with their friends' feelings."

Trip saw the look of guilt in Jon's eyes, but the flicker disappeared as soon it had arrived. "You know about me and Malcolm," he stated calmly.

"Yes."

"Did he tell you? I told him you wouldn't take it well."

"I suggest, Captain," growled Trip, emphasising the rank, "that when you and your lover discuss your private business you don't do it in a corridor."

Jon's stance softened and he rubbed his face with his hands. "Trip, you have to believe me, we didn't want you to find out this way. I didn't want to give you any reason to doubt what you mean to both of us."

Trip snorted in disbelief and turned his back on his friend. "Bullshit!"

"We didn't set out to hide anything; we never thought our first encounters would last, we thought the passion would fizzle out," said Jon softly. "We got together just how Malcolm said, but it grew into more and before we knew it we'd been together months, not weeks. But the attraction towards you did not diminish, and once we decided to stop hiding our relationship we both began to notice that you looked at us differently. With a hunger that you thought you'd never be able to satisfy."

Trip refused to turn around, he couldn't look at Jon at the moment. "That's a real nice story, Jon. Real Nice. But it don't wash with me. You say you're in a long lasting relationship with Malcolm, but here you are trying to convince me that two should become three. Shouldn't you be concentrating on what you've already got?"

"Please, Trip. What Malcolm and I have is strong, we are good together, but we both know something's missing. And the night we all spent together confirmed that. We both want you, and not just in the biblical sense. Your personality compliments us perfectly, a foil to Malcolm's sarcasm and an antidote to my, sometimes misplaced, pride."

"Jon, this isn't easy for me…"

"I know, but we've been friends for a long time. Do you really believe I'd sacrifice that for a quick fling, a meaningless fuck? We want you. Not for one night or one week – but forever."

Trip couldn't stop the humourless laugh from escaping. "Pretty words."

"For fuck's sake, Trip!" snarled Jon. "I know you're angry. Hell, I guess I would be too, but I thought you knew me well enough by now to know that I say what I mean."

Anger was only part of it, thought Trip sourly. But it was the huge helping of uncertainty that went with it that wasn't helping matters. "Look, Jon, even if I said yes – not that I am – what happens if this goes wrong? You two can retreat back to being a couple and where does that leave me? The risk's too big."

Trip felt Jon's hands rest on his shoulders. Their weight felt good, and he couldn't bring himself to knock them away. Even with the false truths he couldn't deny that he wanted Jon, and wanted Malcolm as well. Jon turned him around, and Trip stood staring into the warm green eyes he'd known so long. "I never took you as a coward, Trip."

The words were aimed perfectly and Trip didn't know how to answer. "I…"

Completely lost in the moment Trip didn't realiseJon had leanedforward until he'd kissed him, his friend's hands roving over his back. His body felt awash with liquid fire, his nerves tingling excitedly as Jon kissed him thoroughly.

Jon pulled away slightly breathless. "So, Trip, what do you say? Shall I call Malcolm?"

Trip knew that this was a pivotal moment, one word potentially changing his life. Tuckers, he told himself, were explorers – they didn't run from the unknown. "Yes," he whispered, and leaned forward, melting into his lover's embrace and waited for Malcolm to arrive.

- - -  
Molec stared mournfully up at the clear night sky, the stars appeared brighter than normal, their luminescence almost haunting. He thought he should be happy at the thought of returning home; it had after all been his goal for the last few months. But what if there was no home to go to? It would be better if he stopped thinking of home, of the apartment they'd shared, the study he'd commandeered much to the mock outrage of his husbands. Their bed.

He bit down hard on his lip to prevent his sob escaping. Phlox would surely have told them by now he was still alive, and with that would be the details of his mission. It was likely they would be as disgusted with his role as he was: nothing more than a willing vessel for the Senate to expunge their sexual frustrations. He'd been unfaithful, multiple times. Even though he knew he was protecting Malcolm, his own revulsion for the act of betrayal made him nauseous,hot bile burned inside him and he tried to control his gag reflex. And what if they did forgive him, did he really think he was worthy of the love Jon and Malcolm? He was dirty, soiled and unclean. No longer of worth or consequence.

Silently he cried, the night encroaching him and his dark thoughts of self-loathing and disgust chased away any attempt of sleep. First he must get home; if nothing else he must complete his mission and debrief his commanding officers. Whatever happened next he couldn't bear to think about. His mission over, Section 31 would probably find use for him somewhere, but in the eyes of the Earth he was dead – and it would probably be best for Jon and Malcolm that he remained so.

The rising sun reminded him that he had to move, as much as his body protested Molec had to get further into the forest. The rendezvous point was very specific; a small area where the minerals in the rocks prevented the Romulans scanning for a transporter signal. However, it did mean that he had to be at the precise spot to get off the planet as the scanners of the ship that would whisk him back to Earth would not be able to pinpoint him exactly. He had to hope that the operator in charge of the controls knew what they were doing.

His watch told him he had only a few minutes to wait as he entered the ring of stones that marked the meeting point. Although he was now more exposed than at any point in his hiding there had been no sign of Romulan guards or a search party. He listened keenly, but heard nothing except the twittering of the dawn chorus. The once familiar sensation of the transporter beam slid over his skin and Molec was free of Romulus.

Molec blinked away the unsettling feeling as he reappeared on the transporter pad. He staggered forward and a strong arm stopped him from falling over his own feet. He looked up. "T'Pol?"

"Welcome aboard, Commander," she said. "I think a visit to sick bay is in order."

"Please, don't call me that," he begged.

"I …"

"Call me Molec."- - -  
The view screen beeped and Malcolm looked up from the pile of papers on his desk – no, Trip's desk, he was merely borrowing it until his husband returned home. He reached over and answered the call. The familiar face of Dr Phlox appeared and his heart clenched in anticipation. "Doctor, have you news?"

The smile on the Denobulan's face said it all. "Good day, Commander Reed. I believe I do indeed have news – good news. He's on his way home."

Malcolm felt relief flood his body. "When?"

"He's on a ship heading back to Earth as we speak. There will be debriefing before he is released by Section 31, but I imagine Admiral Archer would be able to use his connections to be present," said Phlox wryly.

"I can't believe this is really happening. I can't wait to see him again."

Phlox's smile waned a little. "I must caution you that Commander Tucker has been through a significant ordeal, you might have to be patient."

Malcolm nodded. "I understand, doctor. We can't wait to have him home, everything else we can deal with together."

- - -

In the end Jonathan Archer didn't have to shout that loud or call in too many favours to make sure that both he and his husband would be present at Trip's debriefing. It helped to be the man who'd saved the planet. He'd debated whether he should wear dress uniform but this was not an official reception, and no matter how much Trip liked him in it, today was not the time or the place.

Malcolm shifted uneasily in the chair next to him. They were seated around a large table with twenty other Starfleet officers. A door to the right opened and Trip entered. Jon's eyes followed him as he walked to the head of the table. Despite the wrong skin tone and hair colour he was still the man he'd married. Trip had lost weight, but that was nothing they couldn't fix, and he was dressed – surprisingly – in civilian clothing. Jon saw Trip's cursory look around the room, and his reluctance to meet his eye.

The meeting began, Trip calmly working through slide after slide of the information he had brought back. Jon noticed his husband's lack of accent and it was a little strange to hear Trip talk without the Floridian drawl, and he found it hard to concentrate on the content of the presentation. However, he did notice that Trip made no reference to how he had acquired the detailed weapon plans or fleet manoeuvres, but there was a definite tremor in Trip's hand as he worked the computer or pointed out engineering weaknesses in the Romulans' plans.

- - -

Trip shut down the computer, the session was over. Jon and Malcolm were on their feet, heading towards him. He'd tried his best not to look at them during debriefing, but now it was over he couldn't keep his distance. Both Malcolm and Jon wore the same expression of concern and relief but Trip knew now was not the time. He needed to retreat and recover. To give himself time to be himself once more, to lay Molec to rest. He wanted to become wholly human again, have Phlox remove the implant and give him back his normal appearance.

Jon was reaching out to him, but he stepped back and saw pain flashing through his husband's eyes. Malcolm tried to approach him but Trip stepped back again. "Please, give me some time. Let me become your Trip again." His voice trembled, cracking with emotion. "I don't want you to think of me like this."

No matter what he'd done over the last few months, the hardest thing he had to do was to turn and walk away now. For the sake of his sanity and, in his own mind, any hope of rekindling his marriage, he turned his back on his husbands and left the room without another word.

Continued in part five (the last bit!) – Reunion


	5. Reunion

**This version has been edited for this archive. The full NC-17 version can be found at the Warp 5 Complex.**

**Title: Reunion  
Author: Hel Bee  
Series: ENT  
Codes: A/R/Tu  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Set several months after 'These are the Voyages…'  
Beta: Rakina and Charlene  
Summary: Back on Earth, can Trip put his mission behind him to save his marriage?  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!  
AN: Fifth (and final) in my 'Too Stubborn To Die' series**

Phlox had been true to his word. All the augmentations that had been made to his body had been removed without trace. Trip ran his fingers over his forehead, his eyes skirting his face in the mirror. His skin was once again fair, his hair blond and, much to his relief, his eyes were blue. The reversal had taken over a week, Phlox refusing to carry out too much surgery in on one go, and the drugs to rework his blood chemistry couldn't be rushed. He'd cut himself shaving that morning, his blood had been red and he'd been ecstatic.

Trip stepped away from the mirror and padded over to the closet in his hopefully temporary quarters. He dressed carefully, stopping to examine the scars his Romulan mission had left him with. Phlox would remove them when he was back to full health, but for now they remained as a reminder of the last year.

Today he was going to go against the advice of his Starfleet appointed psychiatrist. He was going to contact Jon and Malcolm. The shrink had told him he wasn't ready for such an emotional event, but Trip knew himself better than Dr Ripley. Running from his demons was not an option; cowardice would not help him heal. If he wanted his old life back he would have to fight for it; even if there was the possibility that his husbands no longer wanted him.

At least Phlox had agreed with him, though he had stated the caveat that he wasn't an expert in human psychology, something Trip had dismissed saying that Phlox knew more about him and his needs than any appointed Starfleet quack. To that end, Phlox had contacted Jon and Malcolm, warning them of Trip's intentions and so they wouldboth be at the apartment when he called.

He couldn't believe his own nervousness, worse than when he had finally plucked up the courage to tell his parents that we was about to embark on a marriage to two men. For once his parents' eccentricity had worked to his advantage, his mother quite calmly stated that Trip needed a firm hand, and two pairs would be a distinct advantage. His father had just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, saying that the Tucker clan would welcome anyone who was his choice.

His parents were all too a painful reminder that in the eyes of the Earth he was still dead, a situation Starfleet, in particular Section 31, wanted to maintain. Trip knew it had to be the case, but he was still petitioning for the right to at least tell his folks he was alive.

Trip sat down in front of the viewscreen, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. With a few touches to the screen his call connected and he stared into his husbands' apprehensive faces.

Malcolm, his brow creased with worry, spoke first: "Trip?"

"Hey," Tripreplied softly, "you two look great."

Jon smiled, but Trip could see that his older husband's concerns kept the smile from his eyes. "How are you doing?"

"Finally beginning to feel human again," he admitted. Trip sighed deeply and ran his hands nervously through his hair. "God, I've missed you both so much."

Malcolm looked suspiciously close to tears. "I though we'd never see you again. Trip, we need you here. I need totouch you, just to make sure that you're really alive!"

"I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?" His plea was impassioned, and he knew he sounded desperate, almost needy. This need was almost suffocating, so different from how he had been before he'd gone to Romulus. But now he had to hope that they could forgive him. Not just the lies, the betrayal of his wedding vows, but of keeping his distance. Creeping away to lick his wounds, like a coward, he chastised himself, a coward unworthy of the love he saw on the faces of the men on the viewscreen.

"There is nothing to forgive," insisted Malcolm, and Trip saw him lean closer to the screen. "We know what happened and why you had to do what you did. I know at the moment you probably won't believe me, but I am very grateful – I couldn't have done it."

"I..."

"We need you, Trip. We always have." It was Jon was had spoken. "Is there somewhere we can meet face to face?"

"I suppose so." His answer was uncommitted, uncertain if he was ready for that yet.

"We need this, Trip. I know things can't go back to how they were before –"

Trip interrupted Jon. "I understand that you mightn't want to continue what we had."

"No!" The cry came simultaneously from Malcolm and Jon.

Malcolm laid a hand on Jon's forearm, a clear signal that he wanted to speak. "Listen, you stupid yank. We just want to give you time to adjust, there is no way on Earth I'm going to allow this marriage to end."

It was the unexpected term of endearment that had grabbed his attention. Trip smiled slightly, although both of Malcolm's husbands were American, he reserved 'stupid yank' solely for Trip. "Give me a week, and then we'll meet. I promise."

Jon returned his smile. "Take as long as you want, Trip. Just let us know when and where."

Although seeing Trip walk away after the debriefing was hard, Malcolm understood his husband's need to retreat; however, he also knew Trip well enough to know that the man would no doubt castigate himself for it. Trip had, for all his outward southern charm, been essentially a private man. He internalised things, preferring his own counsel before turning to someone else for advice. Jon said it was because Trip was so stubborn, but then the three of them had in the past argued long and hard about each others coping mechanisms. Trip was hard as nails – rarely shaken – but even with the small amount of time they had seen him Malcolm could tell he was falling apart. And now it was Jon and his responsibility to put their engineer back together again. Even from the start, Trip had been hard to win over, to accept that both Jon and Malcolm wanted him, and now Malcolm hoped they didn't face another battle to persuade him that they very much wanted to keep him in their lives. And if it took knocking the stupid yank out stone cold and dragging him back to their apartment so be it.

Trip had surprised them with where he had wanted them to meet. Although with careful consideration it made sense, which was why Jon and Malcolm were heading to the captains quarters of the now decommissioned NX-01.

Malcolm guessed that Trip was owed more favours than anyone else in Starfleet – even Jon – and he had called in at least one of them. Enterprise was now in permanent orbit around Earth, with plans currently underway to make her into a museum ship. She certainly seemed perfectly preserved, thought Malcolm as they had come aboard. He could think of nowhere better to attempt to salvage their marriage than place their relationship had begun.

It was strange to beaboard without the rest of the crew; there was a small security team who patrolled the desks but once the warp engine had finally been taken off line Enterprise had been allowed to rest. Jon grabbed his hand as they stopped outside the captain's quarters. Trip was already here, the presence of a Starfleet shuttlepod was testament to that. He squeezed Jon's hand. "It'll be all right."

"Should I be the one saying that?" chuckled Jon. Malcolm smiled and lifted Jon's hand to his face, gently kissing his knuckles, then reached out and opened the door.

The door slid back to reveal Trip, he'd been staring out of the porthole but had turned to face them once the door had opened. Malcolm heart raced faster and before he knew it Jon had closed the distance and now held Trip firmly in his arms. Not to beout done Malcolm joined them, wrapping his arms around the two men he loved.

"Bloody hell, you feel good," purred Malcolm.

"Been far too long," agreed Jon, who seemed as set as Malcolm on not wanting to let go of Trip.

Somehow Trip managed to extricate himself from his husbands' clutches and stepped back. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

Jon stroked Trip's cheek and smiled. "Wild Klingons couldn't have kept us away."

"Glad to hear it."

Malcolm took hold of one of Trip's hands and Jon did the same. "Come home, Trip."

Trip smiled weakly. "I want to, but I need some time, a bit of space."

"Whatever you want," said Jon sincerely, "we know it's been difficult for you. But together we can solve anything."

Trip licked his lips and Malcolm could sense his nervousness. "I don't think I'm ready to be your husband… er… physically this is."

Malcolm grabbed him, puling Trip so he looked directly in his eyes. "Only when you're ready. We won't push you."

"You could have the spare room, if you want," offered Jon, and Malcolm knew it was not the solution either ofthem wanted, but it was good idea.

Trip slumped forward, laying his head on Malcolm's shoulder, and Malcolm felt the sobs wrack his husband's body. Jon tried to comfort him by stroking his back and they all dissolved together into a heap on the floor, Trip's larger frame too heavily for Malcolm to support on his own.

Trip looked up and stared between his husbands, his eyes red from the tears but his blue eyes sparkling with hope and relief. "I want to come home."

Sometimes it was hard for him to believe he had been back six months. There were moments, when he was alone with his eyes closed, that he thought he was still on Romulus, expecting the call to attend the Senate. But they were few and far between now, as were the insidious feelings of self-loathing thanks to his counselling sessions and his husband' considerate attentions.

They had celebrated the anniversary of their marriage in style: an extravagant dinner at an impressive restaurant and now, back at their apartment, Trip lay with his head on Jon's lap. His older husband stroked his hair while Malcolm sat under his feet on the large comfortable couch. He stretched languorously, not missing the spark of heat in Jon's eyes as he did so. Neither of them had pushed him when he had returned, allowing him to spend the first few awkward weeks in the spare room before crawling into bed between them late one night after a particularly vivid nightmare. Over the months the intimacy had slowly returned, but he yet to let either of husbands take him. But now relaxed, happy and safe Trip decided he was ready.

With a supreme effort he got off the sofa, Jon and Malcolm muttering in disappointment as he did so. "Stop your moaning," he grinned seductively, "and come to bed."

Trip was already in the bedroom and had removed several items of clothing before the other two men had joined him. He was in control here, he got want he wanted and tonight would be no exception. Jon and Malcolm were undressing too and, naked, Trip crawled onto their large bed, beckoning them to join him.

He pointed at Malcolm. "Lie down," he ordered. "Feet towards the pillows."

Malcolm, he reflected had always been very good at following orders, and he rewarded him with deep and passionate kiss. He knelt up on the bed and looked at Jon, a hungry expression on his features. "Do you know what we're gonna do?"

Dumbstruck, Jon just shook his head.

"Me and Mal are gonna suck each other, and you're gonna fuck me."

Jon strode forward and grabbed him hard as he knelt on the bed. "Are you absolutely sure."

"Positive."

Jon's kiss was demanding and wild. "Then you'd better take your place."

---

Later, once cleaned and his husbands assured he was more than all right, thank you very much, Trip cuddled close to Jon as Malcolm wrapped himself behind him. He smiled into Jon's chest hair and sighed happily. There was still much to work through, after all he was still officially dead, although he thought he was real close to getting Starfleet's permission to tell his folks he was alive. Then there were potential new assignments to consider. But for now everything else could wait, he was home.

THE END


End file.
